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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22891780">The Extravagant Dance of Fred and George</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenButton/pseuds/GoldenButton'>GoldenButton</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Intimacy, M/M, Romance, Sexual Tension</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 11:27:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,697</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22891780</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenButton/pseuds/GoldenButton</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It's hard to keep secrets from your twin brother, and even harder to reconcile with them. An intimate re-telling of Fred and George's journey through Hogwarts. Original plot generally disregarded.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Fred Weasley/George Weasley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>177</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Innocence</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Fred and George Weasley had disappeared - gallivanting if you will - taking a reprieve from their nine year old baby brother and eight year old little sister; wanting to make use of their wits in solitude. They had to plan something truly spectacular to say goodbye to their family: after all, they were departing in a week to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. </p><p>Fred lay opposite of his twin in the sweeping amber grass, his hands casually under his head as he stared absentmindedly at the passing clouds. </p><p>"Ey, Georgie," he said, plucking a sprig of clover carelessly. </p><p>"What's that, Fred?" Replied the twin, who was lying on his stomach and inspecting the path of a wandering beetle. </p><p>"Things are going to be different now," Fred said, "You know that." </p><p>"Different how?" Asked George disinterestedly. </p><p>"With us going off and all that," Said Fred, sitting up and turning towards his twin. "No more Ron or Ginny, or anything of the like." </p><p>"It's not a fair trade," Replied his brother, "We get Percy so soon as we arrive." </p><p>This made Fred laugh. He lay back down and stared upwards. </p><p>"But things really are going to change," He said to himself, "I'll make them." </p><p>"Oh?" Said George, suddenly taking interest. </p><p>"Right," His twin said, "We're going to make something real big of ourselves, Georgie. You wait and see, eh? We'll get up bright every morning and stir something up so everyone knows we're there." </p><p>A whisper of excitement began to well in George's belly, he sat up and leaned forward, beaming at his brother, </p><p>"We'll raise the rumpus we can't at home," He said. </p><p>"And then we'll show them that us Weasley boys are Masters of Mischief," Said Fred taking himself a little too seriously, "We're not appreciated around here, afterall." </p><p>The other boy laughed, "Right. Mum gives us the evil eye everytime we even breathe funny." </p><p>"Hmm," His fellow trickster said, as if in revelation, "But we did tell her we'd be on our best behavior, didn't we, George?" </p><p>His brother hesitated, and then smiled widely. He leaned forward and whispered; </p><p>
  <em> 'Never stopped us before.'  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>✦✧✦✧</p><p> </p><p>It was night, the eve before their departure. Neither Weasley boy could sleep, though they weren't quite aware of each other. Mum had spiffied up the room and cleared out some of the old clutter in anticipation of their leaving, and had moved their two narrow beds to opposite sides of the room. Most likely it was for Ginny, who wanted to have her own room for the brief time left before she joined them at Hogwarts as well. Like any Weasley; an opportunist.</p><p>After a painful minute of silence, Fred whispered into the darkness, <em> "George?"  </em></p><p>When at first no reply came, Fred turned on his side and buried his face into his threadbare quilt, gathering the scent for safekeeping (near his heart, where it would be easiest to cherish.) He was desperate for comfort. </p><p>He heard the sound of bare feet against the wooden floor. </p><p>"Fred," murmured his twin, "I swore I heard my name, Freddie. Can you not sleep either?" </p><p>He sighed in immense relief and turned around, pulling his brother by his sleeve into the bed beside him. </p><p>"Sleep here tonight, Georgie," He mumbled into his shoulder, "I'll never get to rest knowing you're all the way over there." George didn't hesitate to settle in, jostling his twin until the perfect amount of space between them was reached. </p><p>And just as quickly as they'd nestled into bed they were asleep, snug innocently against one another.</p><p> </p><p>✦✧✦✧</p><p> </p><p>For the two troublesome Weasley twins, everything went better than expected. Once assimilated into the whirlwind of Hogwarts activity, magic became a powerful tool in their arsenal of mischief. They interpreted every jinx and potion as another tool to potentially drive their commonmates crimson with irritation. </p><p>More importantly, they remained constantly together. Despite quietly fearing some impending rift, Fred was not discarded by George for any one of these interesting new people - And although George was sure Fred would likewise lose interest in him, he kept his brother in his pocket throughout the year. </p><p>They believed they had nothing to worry about.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Incidence</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The darkness in Hogwarts was indomitable, unstirred by moonlight and indifferent to silence.  These were the nights in which the twins would lay awake, staring into the shadows and wondering if their eyes might be meeting in secret across the room. Sometimes, one of them would be brave enough to find out.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"George,"</span>
  </em>
  <span> Fred whispered, his voice barely audible. But George was awake, and thinking. He exhaled slowly as his surprised stomach settled, and reached out to where he had heard his name, finding his brother’s wrist. The bed wheezed as the second twin was pulled down, and the two wrestled with the blankets until they were comfortably facing each other, swathed in cloth. They were silent for a few moments, comforted by the hushed sound of one another’s breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fred," whispered the first twin, his eyes now confidently closed. Fred smiled without thinking and shuffled lightly inward before nodding, his forehead brushing against his brothers. "I'm going crazy," continued George, "Sleeping alone, that is. I got too used to our old room over the summer." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The room we had two beds in?” Asked Fred, amusement evident even in a whisper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like we used them,” said George plainly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred took a moment to respond, relaxing into the sheets. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve just got to get used to it, Georgie. Like last year.” Fred put an arm limply over his brother's neck and breathed deeply, turning his head quietly towards the ceiling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. Like last year," he murmured. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George would have normally expounded on this, but he was becoming contentedly drowsy. His nose brushed the nape of his twin's neck, and he moved anxiously to the side; as if afraid his brother would notice him there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now lying side-by-side, it felt emblematic of the distance that Hogwarts had introduced to them. What was more difficult still, was that nobody could call it an </span>
  <em>
    <span>unnatural </span>
  </em>
  <span>distance; this was afterall how every other young wizard lived his life. Separate schedules, separate priorities, separate beds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neither of them wanted to confront that it would be strange for them to stay as they were, and the silence endured. Through no means of reason, simply the pressure of time, Fred rolled over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well," He said quietly, "You sleep well, Georgie. Don't forget I'm only a step off to your right." George hoped it was too dark for Fred to see his concern. What his brother said did not reassure him; the change had come on too slowly to confront, and now it felt as if there was no room to say anything at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>However, change was something which persisted, whether one ignored it or not.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>✦✧✦✧</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The first incident between the brothers was pure happenstance. In the quiet morning hour before Charms, they had routinely taken position in the most northwesterly corridor. It connected advantageously to a stairwell with a</span>
  <em>
    <span> secret passageway</span>
  </em>
  <span> laying ready for them behind the third tapestry, should their antics be discovered. There was never any traffic in this hallway, because it so happened that no class from that hour to the next connected there. Nevertheless, one morning, Filius Flitwick (of whom’s class they should most certainly have been preparing for,) scurried in with his cape billowing behind him: abandoning his own preparation to make a spontaneous visit to the Defense Against The Dark Arts storeroom for blast-proof cloth. They would be learning the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bombarda </span>
  </em>
  <span>charm today, and a certain pair of Weasley twins made the precaution seem absolutely necessary.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hearing the fleet approaching steps, the brothers made a practiced evacuation: abandoning their prototype fizzing-fireworks where they lay. In harmony they dashed into the stairwell, up the steps, and threw aside the tapestry - but stopped in their tracks when they saw what lay behind. As was characteristic of the castle, the stone bricks had rearranged themselves in the night, (funny how they do so,) and created no more than a narrow alcove in the wall. The boys exchanged a brief look, before they heard Professor Flitwick's voice turn high in surprise at the mess they had left behind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good enough,” said Fred, and he tugged his brother forward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To fit into the small space required them to squeeze together chest-to-chest with legs crossed at a jumbled, but balanced angle. Fred wrapped an arm around his brother's neck as he held him tightly, as if he were afraid he might lose footing and announce their presence. He stopped fighting his brother and trained his eyes on the narrow gap where the cloth met stone. They were precariously close to the open stairwell and even so much as their hurried breath could give them away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite their peril, and despite the looming consequences of being caught for the third time this year causing havoc on school grounds, one of the two twins had entirely forgotten the reason they were fleeing at all.  George felt nauseous with nerves. He was anxious in a way he had never been before in these situations. His breath had seized in his throat, and his stomach sank as if it were made of lead. He stared at his brother; who was still fixated unflinchingly on what he could see of the corridor. It was the closest they had been since they had shared a bed at the beginning of this same year.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Close calls were almost routine, and escape was practically always this dramatic. So then; if he wasn’t afraid of being caught, then what? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was being seen. Seen like this, pressed so thoroughly, so privately against his brother.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> The thought was so forthrightly unsettling that he actually opened his mouth to say something, anything which might interrupt the thought. Fred detected the movement and in an instant clasped his hand against his brother's mouth, rougher than was necessary. George flinched in surprise, but as if in revelation fell still. The Professor’s steps sounded up the stairwell as he hurried upwards, whether on his business or looking for culprits, the twins could not tell. He was muttering underneath his breath, (so close to them that they could hear it,) but his tone was indecipherable. It felt like a brief eternity before he moved on entirely, and all was silent at last. As George's nerves softened, he reached up and slowly uncovered his mouth, overwhelmingly aware of the slight way the skin of his lips pulled against that of his brother’s hand . They made eye contact, and for an indeterminate reason, it was uncomfortable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"How did that happen?" Said Fred, though the reason wasn't entirely important, "I was sure nobody came down that hall this time of day." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"They don't," mumbled George, though obviously someone had. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In a gesture of goodwill, Fred grabbed his twin's hand and gave it a soft squeeze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Won’t stop us," he said, “Any corridor’s the same for this kind of foolishness.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George pulled away from him. He hesitated, not knowing why he had done it but regretting it instantly. Fred looked reproachful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why was this happening </span>
  <em>
    <span>now? </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Candescence</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Fred and George, without even realizing it, began to play an extravagant game of pretend. Both of them knew something was wrong, but neither knew how to name it. What could be wrong between a pair that never left each other's sights? George in particular was careful around his brother, and made a show of being in good spirits, whether or not he was. In truth, George felt ill most of the time, these days.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both were secretly quite eager for the Summer holiday.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their reputation had flourished to infamy by just the end of their fourth year. They were well-liked. Lee Jordan had grown close to the boys, and they found the atmosphere very relaxed when his casual laughter and warm voice formed a barrier between them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was sometimes a point at night in the Gryffindor Commonroom when all had gone to bed save the twins. They would huddle on the weathered sofa in front of the warm, dimming fire and talk. Plans, prototypes, schemes, merrymaking. They took it all quite seriously. They were practically duty-bound to liven up the school, afterall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>However, that was not what was significant about these nights. It was the only time they were </span>
  <em>
    <span>truly</span>
  </em>
  <span> alone together. They would speak without looking at each other, without needing to. Sometimes their conversation would stray to their family and their friends, even their future. It was comfortable there, with nobody to impress.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once every so often their hands would touch, and they would deliberately leave them there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was an important time for both of them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>✦✧✦✧</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Summer came at last. When the Weasley children were all together under one roof, quite a ruckus was caused, which was much to Fred and George’s liking. They grew closer to their younger siblings every day, as well as created dear enemies of them. Even their eldest brother had made time to visit, which was a rare joy, and made The Burrow feel more like home than ever. The twins could sink into this old comfort as if they’d never left it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite this, or perhaps because of it, late into an evening in July the pretense was finally tested. Outside, the air was humming with peeping frogs and singing crickets. Fred was lazily reading that season's Quidditch Review, only partially focused on the words but enjoying it all the same. George was standing at the open window, bent far enough to feel the night air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's wonderful tonight, Fred," he said, withdrawing, "We should keep the window open." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fine by me," said the latter without looking up. George sat heavily at the foot of his bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"School is brilliant and everything, but this is where I want to be, right here," He said contemplatively. Fred didn't respond. He seemed absorbed. "You know," George continued, "With mum and dad and Bill and everything." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred still didn't seem to notice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And you." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His sibling glanced over the top of the newsletter at last and made eye-contact with him. He set the booklet gently down beside himself and sat up, stretching as if he were bored. George pushed him lightly and asked, "Why’ve you got such a cob on? You've been ignoring me half the night." Fred was visibly bothered by this, and mumbled something a bit too quiet to hear. "C'mon mate," George insisted, “Have I done something?” He reached out for his brother and put a hand a bit too firmly on his shoulder, to which Fred jerked immediately away. George’s expression fell and he stood up on reflex when his brother apologetically seized his wrist. The motion was so abrupt that he stumbled, and just as Fred moved to steady him, they collided.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When George fell and his brother did not let go they tumbled heavily onto the bed together. He landed with a huff on his brother’s chest, his cheek pressed into his collar. His face flushed fully and he forced himself quickly up onto his elbows. Fred's expression was inscrutable; surprised or maybe tense. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George wanted to apologize, but his throat had clenched up, and he felt immobilized. He was achingly focused on a narrow spot above the hip where their shirts had ridden up and their skin was touching. He held his breath. Somehow, neither of them moved. Fred watched him. His expression remained aloof and it unnerved George terribly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His arms began to tire where they held him and his shoulders dipped. Fred seemed to notice this. Then, weak with nerves and doubt, George buckled, and he found himself hovering an uncomfortably meager distance over his brother. His stomach twisted and he flushed even darker than before. Feeling suddenly and intensely absurd, he pulled back, but his brother caught him by the shoulder. Fred’s face was finally readable, and it was thick with uncertainty. Then, slowly, he reached his other hand up towards the back of his brother’s head, and closed his eyes. George had only a moment to feel confused until his brother’s palm pushed softly upwards through his hair, and his fingers found the warm skin underneath. George’s heart skipped a beat. A terrible and wonderful shudder of electricity ran down the back of his neck, and his own eyes fluttered shut unbidden.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He slowly lowered himself until his cheek was pressed against his brother’s neck, and Fred did not release him. He stayed perfectly and utterly silent, lest the illusion between them shattered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could hear his twin's breath against his ear, smooth as if uncaring. George could not begin to fathom what his brother might be thinking. He opened his eyes quietly and looked up at him as much as he could. He could see the faint pulse of his neck, and the unmoving line of his jaw. George lifted his chin only barely, but Fred caught the movement and looked down. Their eyes connected peripherally, and they both shifted to make better use of the gaze. Fred’s expression flickered. For a moment, nothing moved. Then, softly, the weight on the back of his head grew heavier as he pulled George inward. There was only a moment between that one and the next in which he was fully cognizant of what was happening.  They grew close until their lips were just brushing, and Fred rose gently to meet him. Their mouths slowly pressed into a deep kiss. George’s stomach rolled as if it were melting. The details of the room became a blur, the sounds outside ran together. His brother’s lips fit perfectly against his own. He wanted to shut off the world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred pulled quietly away from him, and let his head drop, eyes still closed. George felt for the first time that he was trembling. He didn’t know what to say or do. He had no idea what had just happened. He dropped his face over his brother’s shoulder into the pillow and his cheeks burned against the cool, indifferent fabric. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quietly, Fred’s arms wrapped around him. The thunderous pounding of his heart began at last to subside. He didn’t move, (he didn’t dare,) and the night advanced on them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whether they slept that way by choice or by accident, Fred held him just as tightly the long night through.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>✦✧✦✧</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The following morning, neither had a thing to say to one another. The absolute candescence of the kiss the night before was ignored altogether. George might have thought it had never happened at all, if the air didn’t turn electric when they neared each other. He desperately wanted to say something. To say </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Instead, the day progressed like any other, save the unusual sense of distance. Just far enough that neither tested the boundary, just close enough that nobody would question them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next day was much the same. Fred began to seem unconcerned, jovial even. The message was clear. They were not to speak of this. If it were a pact, then George had signed it unwillingly. Still - no matter how many hundreds of times a day he looked for the right thing to say, he never found it. Had he the bravery to confront his brother, he hadn’t the words.</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Vehemence</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  <span>The quiet distant hostility followed them into their Sixth year. George felt often that he was waiting for something, though he didn’t know for what. He occupied himself perfecting his craft, something which he and his brother could still engage in with perfect synchrony. They breathed life into any space they occupied, and their peers loved them for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the teachers, on the contrary, they were absolute terrors. More often than not, the Weasleys were confined in detention. Rebelliously, they used these times above all others to plot. There was an effort more deliberate than there had been before to maintain a persona. To appear happy, carefree and playful. To give no-one a reason to question them. Least of all one another.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>✦✧✦✧</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fred tossed his brother a bottle of butterbeer, the glass frosty from a chilling charm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> "Thanks mate," said George nonchalantly, his feet up to absorb the heat from the fire. He watched Fred gather up the last of his Christmas pickings and scrutinized the impulse to call him to sit down three times over. Fred approached regardless and sat down with a sigh at the opposite end of the sofa. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I didn't expect that stunt  in the Great Hall to go so well," he said as he relaxed into the cushions. "Debuting the Skiving Snackboxes, that was a riot, eh?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George shrugged and withheld a satisfied smile. It had been his idea.  "I almost feel bad," he lied, "McGonagall has never done us any wrong." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She should have known better than to teach at a school with us in it," Fred said, "I don't even know what she was thinking." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George smiled into his bottle as he took a thoughtful sip. Then, a familiar forced silence settled over them. It was as far as they could take the conversation. </span>
  <em>
    <span>While staying in character,</span>
  </em>
  <span> thought George, surprising himself with his own bitter inflection. He glanced over at Fred and noticed the distance between them with renewed discomfort. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighed and gently tilted his wand towards the fire. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Incendio,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he murmured. The fire hissed as if angry, but then flourished to a full glow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another minute passed. As if compelled to break the silence, Fred said, "Not that categorizing flame types with you isn't great, but I think I'm ready for some sleep."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George waved his brother off, making a deliberate effort to appear disinterested. He wanted to stay here and think.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Often, George would take this time to try and unwork the knots in his mind, but it always ended very much the same. He would begin to relax, to convince himself that things were alright, at the very least, in this moment. The thoughts which wanted his attention, coursework, classmates, prospects, all began to dim and quiet down. He would think, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Everything’s okay, as long as you’re together. </span>
  </em>
  <span>But they </span>
  <em>
    <span>weren’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> together. George was here, on the common room settee, alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And of course, if he let himself sit and think for too long, his mind would wander. He would feel that spot on his brother’s hip, the pressure of his hands, the warmth of his lips. The memory followed him like a ghost. Anything short of totally rejecting it felt like a betrayal, somehow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He would sit, quietly staring forward into the fire. He would see faces, unthinkingly. Friends, family, strangers with familiar features. His brother. More than anything, his brother. This one and only person who knew him for who he was, and not what he presented to the world. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He closed his eyes as if it would ease the burden, or perhaps as if the world was kinder when you could not see it. He could hear his twin’s voice with distressing clarity. It felt easier to conjure than even his own. As close as his next breath, as present as his guilty conscience. His hands twitched in his lap  and his expression compacted softly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And when he opened his eyes at last, it was like crashing from a great height. He was himself, and he was alone, in the silence of a room long abandoned by people with other places to be. Fred was among them. His absence became so heavy at those moments that George would force himself to his feet. Going to the bottom of the stairwell felt like wading through water, but by the time he had reached the first step he had convinced himself that his thoughts that evening were totally unremarkable. He was at his best, and his most ordinary, and everything was looking up for them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t fragile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It could keep on like this.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>✦✧✦✧</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Everyday the charade grew more elaborate. It was exhausting, the way it had become so routine for both of them. Fred would often look at his brother when he thought he couldn’t be seen, and wonder what he was thinking about. He always had the distinct feeling that George wasn’t happy with him, and it made him feel hostile. He used to be able to know with just a glance what George was thinking, what he wanted. A small voice insisted that he still could</span>
  <em>
    <span>,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but something about its tone made his gut clench and his thoughts stop in their tracks. It was all so unthinkable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was because of a moment like this, a moment when George felt eyes on the back of his head, that the impulse struck. He knew that his brother was watching him. The thought that he had something to say that he just</span>
  <em>
    <span> wouldn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> made him feel ready to jump out of his skin. Ready to turn around and confront him there, in the crowded hallway. He couldn’t do that of course. Planning a confrontation was equally inconceivable. What could he possibly say? Where could he possibly say it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It then followed that the impulse settled into an itch. Something he never stopped feeling, but which could not compel him to do anything. Something he could confidently ignore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Until, for the first time in a great while, they were alone together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They had overheard Angus Matlock bragging about a passageway behind a mirror that had remained undiscovered; one which only opened if you made a series of absurd faces into it. Fred and George had of course, discovered it on their first outing to Hogsmeade, and they both knew that it opened for anyone who stood long enough in front of it, whether one embarrassed themself or not. Matlock’s lofty claims that he could now hide Galleons inside had not gone unheard by the twins. Either to defend their reputation, or just for the fun of holding it ransom, they had agreed immediately to recover it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>However, when they reached the tunnel, George felt his pulse quickening. Something between anxiety and resolve was swelling in his chest. When the tunnel sealed behind them and the inviting darkness took over, it gripped him like devil’s snare. It was a chance. For what, he didn’t know. He didn’t have time to find an answer. He heard the sound of Fred drawing his wand, and reached out - just barely catching the hem of his sleeve. Fred froze, well-tuned to his brother in the darkness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"George," he said under his breath, "What is it mate, do you hear something?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George stood there, choking on everything that had ever been left unsaid. He felt for his brother's other arm and eventually clutched it, trying to steady himself in the murk. The air turned cold and expectant. He felt suddenly so foolish - what had he planned to do? He thought about the feeling of Fred’s eyes on the back of his head, the pangs in his stomach when he could sense him casually not speaking his mind, the hundreds of ignored impulses to take his hand and for </span>
  <em>
    <span>just a moment</span>
  </em>
  <span> feel close to him. He harnessed them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Just hold on a moment, Fred," he murmured, patting along his arm until he felt his shoulder and pausing there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mate, what is it," Fred repeated, using an impatient tone to mask his discomfort. George leaned forward just close enough to sense the warmth of his brother’s body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I said," he whispered, "Just hold on." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A silence spread out from that point which enveloped the entire corridor. Fred shifted his weight and seemed to consider saying something, but didn’t. He tentatively reached out and clasped his brother’s shoulder and said, softer this time, </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mate?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George’s sigh sounded relieved. It was so difficult to pull Fred down to his level. He allowed his head to gently meet with his brother's chest, and the two stood as if in the aftermath of terrible news. Fred uncertainly squeezed his sibling's shoulder. They were very aware of one another's presence. Quietly, wearily, George spoke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't you..." he ventured, "Don't you ever think much, mate? Outside yourself?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred's eyebrows dipped indecisively. He decided George hadn't meant it as an insult. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What's that mean exactly, Georgie? I think about loads of things," he said, "If you’re calling me empty-headed, that hur-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What I mean, Fred," George interrupted softly, "Is don’t your thoughts ever move on their own? Without you? And you just..." He paused, as if not knowing how to complete the sentence. "You're just a witness to them, to what they want?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No," Fred lied, "What's this all about?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Isn’t it mental," George said softly, "That I miss you when I’m with you everyday?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The words impacted Fred, and he took great care not to show it. He hesitated significantly before answering. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What a daft thing to say," he whispered, barely audible. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Even more mental how much time I waste thinking about you when you're bloody next to me." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred's fingers closed tight over his brother's shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Have you gone barmy, George?" he hushed, "What on earth are you going on about?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Like you don’t know," He bit back, "Like you haven’t felt how empty it all is when we can’t talk to one another. Good Godric Fred, I've known you since birth, you think I can't read you?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Surprised and a bit embarrassed, Fred didn't think as he gave his incensed reply, </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"A line like that could only come from George Weasley. Don't you ever think I get sick of you?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George drew back as if he were hit. Fred grimaced in the dark, instantaneously filled with regret. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh... Oh, Georgie," He murmured, feeling forward, "George, I... I mean, I never," </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George moved back until he met the wall. He closed his eyes and put his hands against the chalky stone, getting one deep breath before his brother found him. Fred fumbled for his twin, latching on instantly when he felt the brush of cloth. He put his forehead defeatedly against the wall beside him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm sorry," He muttered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Fred, come here," George whispered in return. His twin shifted in the dark, the rustling of his cloak the only evidence that he had heard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We really need to talk, mate," Fred whispered, the proximity of his voice startling George. A long silence followed. Then, the words finally left him unbidden. They had been waiting for so long that they came without measure or thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You kissed me,” George said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A heat rippled through the air at that instant. Fred turned as rigid and unmoving as stone. George’s stomach lurched, and the lack of response compelled him to continue. “Over holiday. When we were fourth years,” he said as if Fred might have forgotten, “We were alone and it was dark and you kissed-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry George,” Fred just barely choked out, “I knew that this had to be because of that, all of this, I - I’m sorry…” The emotion in his brother’s voice upset him more than anything else could have. Fred moved forward and found both of his twin’s shoulders. “I wasn’t thinking. It just happened. I didn’t want you to think less of me, George, I -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George found his brothers face by the sound of his voice and kissed him vehemently on the mouth. Fred’s entire body jolted and every muscle lifted with tension. Then, softly, they both melted. Instead of pulling away, Fred wrapped his arms tightly around his brother’s back. The embrace grew tender and warm and unrestrained. George hummed a sweet, earnest sound into his twin’s lips, and Fred squeezed him tighter in return. When George eased outward at last he felt giddy and relieved. He tried desperately to find the right thing to say when his brother leaned unexpectedly in and kissed the side of his neck. A fresh surge of heat went through George’s body, and his chin raised almost by reflex. His brother kissed him again, firmer and more slowly. Then a third time, his hand meeting the other side of his neck. He noticed vaguely that George was incredibly hot to the touch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Georgie,” Fred murmured against his skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fred,” George returned, feeling two years of unexpressed emotions spilling into his voice. How often had he thought about this?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We…” Fred’s voice caught a bit, and the sound tugged at George’s heart, “We really need to talk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George sighed undisguisedly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, mate,” he said, “We really do.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Congruence</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>The dim corridor seemed somehow too dismal, and the common room was not nearly private enough. Leaving school grounds was a serious affair, but somehow the situation called for it. Following the passageway to it’s furthermost end led to a set of stairs which spiraled ever further into the earth. Fred drew his wand at this point, and uttered a quiet <em> lumos </em> to guide their way forward. George silently maintained contact with his brother for the entirety of the excursion. </p><p>A long wooden ladder led them at last into the chilling winter air. They pulled themselves up and out of a cellar door, hidden conspicuously behind Dervish and Banges and secured with an almost suspiciously weak <em> Colloportus </em> charm. They peered carefully around the corner of the alley into the main street. It was night, and the golden glow of the streetlamps caught the flurries of broad snowflakes enchantingly. </p><p>“Have you any idea where we’re going, Fred?” Asked George, earnestly.</p><p>“Oh, <em> I’ve </em> got to make the plans, have I?” Fred retorted, scanning the walkway for passersby. The easy playful tone of his voice quietly delighted George. He felt as if he’d brushed all the dust off of something precious and forgotten. </p><p>“No, I’m perfectly content to stand here and freeze, thank you,” he said, smiling.</p><p>“And I am likewise an expert in -”</p><p>“I’ve got an idea, actually,” said George, suddenly.</p><p>“You<em> -”  </em></p><p>Fred was not given a chance to continue their banter, as George took him by the hand and led him out into the open. In synchrony, they lifted the hoods of their cloaks and pulled them far over their heads. With further amusement, Fred noted that George did not let go of his hand. The castle loomed in the distance, and the silver reflection of the moon could just be made out on the edge of the Great Lake. As they made their way to the furthest edges of Hogsmeade, Fred caught on.</p><p>“Hogsmeade station?” </p><p>George turned just enough for Fred to see him wink. Fred remembered for the first time what they had come here for, and the lightheartedness of the gesture made his heart sink.</p><p>“Did we...Really need to come all this way?” He asked after a moment.</p><p>“You tell me, Freddie,” George said, taking the steps up onto the platform. Fred felt something like guilt, and he couldn’t parse its origin. George let go of his hand at last, and it immediately felt unbearably cold. He tucked it into his pocket. His brother sat down lightly on one of the benches facing the tracks, and signaled for him to follow. For a moment, Fred didn’t. George looked at him expectantly. “Fred?” He prompted softly.</p><p>Fred cleared his throat and approached the far side of the bench, leaning against it as if nothing of particular interest were happening. For the first time in a great while, the gesture made George’s heart soften with love, rather than tighten with uncertainty. The feeling drew his next words forward.</p><p>“I thought you might hate me, you know,” he whispered. Fred blinked once, jarred, and looked at his brother as if he’d never met him. </p><p>“George,” he said, his voice incredibly sober, “I could never hate you.”</p><p>George contemplated the use of asking his brother if he could, in fact, get sick of him when Fred finally sat down beside him. “I love you Georgie. More than anything,” he said. The bare sincerity of his words caught George off guard, and he fell totally silent. For a moment, the two sat that way, looking out at the slowly drifting snow. </p><p>Fred drew in an audibly long breath. “So,” he said, “You kissed me.”</p><p>It was so absurd to hear out loud that George snorted, and dipped forward. Fred gave him an unamused look but when George straightened he was wearing a huge grin, and he couldn’t maintain it.</p><p>“Yeah,” said George breathlessly, “I did.” </p><p>Fred envied the ease with which he said it. He felt something acidic rising in his throat, and tried to fight the feeling.</p><p>“Mate,” he said, “What if this turns into something?” George replied without hesitating,</p><p>"Bloody hell, Freddie, you don't think it has?" </p><p>For the first time, George saw his brother blush. He didn’t regret saying it. Still, he was softer with his next words. “I mean, mate,” he said, “That it’s something whether or not we do anything with it.” </p><p>These seemed to be the wrong words. Fred grimaced, and something in his posture subtly shifted. George’s gut stirred uneasily.</p><p>"You've thought about this,” said Fred, emotionlessly. It wasn't a question. George turned forward, and lowered his head backwards onto the wood of the bench.</p><p>"Often," he admitted gently. </p><p>When another silence followed, George began to feel a familiar sense of discomfort. He slowly sat up, and kept his gaze facing forward. He tried to gather some words of reassurance, but it occurred to him that he had no idea what Fred wanted to hear. As he was turning to ask, his brother fell softly against his shoulder, his eyes closed. </p><p>“I’m sorry, George,” he said faintly. “For… I mean. I never even asked what you were feeling. I was a kid and it just felt <em>right</em> and I hated myself for it and -”</p><p>“<em>Hated  </em>yourself for it?” George interrupted incredulously. Fred pulled himself up to look at his twin full on.</p><p> Uncertainly, he said, “Didn’t you?”</p><p>George considered him for a long time. </p><p>“Freddie,” he said eventually. “Ask me what I’m feeling.” Fred blinked, and looked away as if in shame.</p><p>“What<em> are </em>you feeling?” He asked, his voice quiet and genuine. George took his time before replying.</p><p>“I’m so <em> bloody </em> relieved, Fred. I’ve felt so far away from you for so long,” he said. “ Whatever <em> this </em> is can only get in our way if we put it there, mate.” Beside him, Fred’s eyes slowly welled up with tears. George faltered. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw his brother cry. He draped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him closer, softly pressing his cheek against his head. “Fred,” he murmured into his brother’s hair, “What <em> do </em> you want to do?” An age seemed to pass before Fred answered. Without looking up, his voice wavering, he said,</p><p>“I want to kiss you again.”</p><p>George’s heart fluttered. With his other hand, he took Fred’s chin and gently turned his face. There was a moment when their eyes met, and for the very first time both of them were wholly aware of what was happening. George leaned forward and Fred shut his eyes. Their lips brushed, just barely, and they felt a mutual shiver of electricity. Then, they drifted into a profoundly warm kiss. Fred made a low, tender sound and George felt just then like he couldn’t get close enough to him. Their arms found their way firmly around one another and their legs overlapped just enough to accommodate the motion. The embrace deepened further still when George’s hand ran lovingly through his brother’s hair and Fred’s clutched somewhat desperately at his brother’s collar in return. The intensity continued to swell, each gesture growing more and more heated until they parted suddenly, in unison. The pounding of their hearts and the unevenness of their breath was striking in the otherwise perfectly still night. Looking transfixed at one another in a moment of disbelief and doubt, it was George who broke first. He laughed, shakily and freely and buried his face into his brother’s chest. Fred’s eyelashes fluttered and he smiled uncertainly, continuing to hold him tightly. He felt a deep soothing relief at the sound that George had just made, and sensed somehow that he had been waiting to hear it for a long time. “Mate,” he said in barely a whisper, and didn’t continue until George looked dazedly up and caught his eye, “Do you want to just see where this goes?”</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Condolence</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Dismissive gestures were replaced with knowing smiles. Conversation became easy, elegant and flirtatious. The ‘devil-may-care’ attitude that they were so well known for did not change a bit, but suddenly they were occupying it honestly. If an opportunity presented itself for a brief moment together, they seized it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In one such instance, when the eerie moonlit glow over Hogwarts was at its dimmest and George was as sure as he could be that no other student was awake, he rose. He snuck to the edge of his brother’s bed and fell silently over him, kissing his cheek firmly and lovingly. His brother stifled a surprised  noise, something which sounded in between a chortle and a gasp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>George!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he whispered, jostling him in protest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just wanted to say goodnight,” George replied under his breath, softly pinching his brother’s other cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You already said goodnight,” Fred objected.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t think it was convincing,” George maintained, leaning further over the bed. Fred pulled him down and kissed him on the lips, which surprised and delighted him quite terribly. He wore a stupid smile when they came apart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Real discrete, Mate,” he goaded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred whispered a stubborn “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Goodnight,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” in turn. George felt tremendously overwhelmed with affection.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I love you, Fred,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> he murmured. It was something he had begun saying quite often. Tonight, Fred returned it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I love you too, Georgie.”</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>There it was. His heart skipped a beat. The new feeling growing in George’s chest was both wonderful and worrisome at once. He could not bear to reject it, however. Could there be anything more natural and more expected then those five words in particular? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George fell into his own bed, which felt warmer than it had been when he left it. He looked across the dark room with a familiar pang, and wondered once again if he might be meeting his brother’s eyes across it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>✦✧✦✧</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They were used to being careful. After a lifetime of general tomfoolery, they were quite practiced at avoiding detection, of knowing where to be and when to be there. The secrecy of the affair, the inherent </span>
  <em>
    <span>taboo</span>
  </em>
  <span> need not be mentioned. They were already hiding. It all felt quite natural to them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, it made what remained of their sixth year at Hogwarts pass incredibly quickly, and for once, neither of them were longing for the Summer Holiday to arrive. In fact, Fred was </span>
  <em>
    <span>dreading</span>
  </em>
  <span> it. There was no hiding that fact from his brother, as he read him well and was no longer afraid to make that known.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Freddie,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> he would whisper as they prepared for morning classes, or in a quiet hallway when they were out after hours. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Chin up, mate.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” He didn’t ask after what caused it. Quietly, Fred wanted him to. It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>George</span>
  </em>
  <span> who initiated the conversation that brought them here, who found the right words and the right way to say them. He felt paralyzed by the endless possible paths that a new, and very serious, conversation could take. It was altogether too easy to conjure the image of his brother’s face falling, to hear him stumbling over his words. But then, was it fair to him? Was it just a repeat of his first mistake, to be as visibly upset as possible until it was understood that he was asking for help? Fred Weasley made up his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was May, and the weather had been particularly mild all season. Little rain fell, and even less sun shone. Lacewing flies were quite common around the Great Lake, and they looked like little strands of cotton drifting about from any measure of distance. Fred had asked George to follow him there while lunch went on without them in the Great Hall. George seemed distracted, pleasantly so, biting into a pumpkin pasty (which he had swiped from Lee Jordan on the way out the door,) and detailing an idea for an edible gag which made you bark whenever you attempted to speak. George seemed so much himself these days, so cheerful. Fred wanted him to be able to be carefree, always. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What are we doing, mate?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Fred practiced in his own mind. The tone was harsh, stiff.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What happens when we go home, Georgie?</span>
  </em>
  <span> He tried instead, but it felt dishonest to introduce a topic which he himself was afraid to discuss.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What does it mean that we’re like this? Why have I never wanted anybody else?</span>
  </em>
  <span> That one made his stomach lurch, as he realized that there was a confession inside of it as well. He blinked once, and considered the fact that he had no idea, really, if his brother felt the same way. The new question came to mind, almost as inutterable as the last.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What will you do when you meet somebody?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fred?” asked George, giving an expectant raise of his eyebrows..</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred looked at his brother, unable to hide his surprise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry mate, what’s that?” He asked in a sincere tone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George considered him, and after a moment he smiled sadly. He drew closer to him and lowered his voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re still upset, eh Fred?” he said quietly. Fred watched his twin’s face, and tried to monitor his own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wanted to talk about that, actually,” Fred returned as casually as possible. He noted with something like chagrin that this seemed to genuinely surprise his brother.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” said George deliberately. “Of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was farther than Fred had expected to get. He shifted awkwardly where he stood and looked out over the expanse of the lake. He could sense that George was still watching him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“After this, we’ve one year left,” said Fred bluntly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see you’ve still got counting down. Ace, that,” George teased. Fred grinned automatically and countered with a look of mock-reproach. Everything was so easy with his brother. Then, his worries returned as if they were pursuing him and  his stomach sank. His expression must have fallen as well, because George looked suddenly concerned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Mate?” he prompted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred furrowed his brow, and avoided his brother’s eye. He took a breath and seized his courage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are we going to do when we get home?” he said in a low voice, then more confidently, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Merlin</span>
  </em>
  <span>, what about </span>
  <em>
    <span>after </span>
  </em>
  <span>that?” When at first his brother did not respond, he felt emboldened. “I mean, it’s not like it is here, George, at some point we’re going to </span>
  <em>
    <span>be</span>
  </em>
  <span> somebody, we’re going to have to watch every little move. We’re going to have to -”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred was cut short abruptly. George closed the gap between them and took him with practiced ease by the back of his head, kissing him. A shiver ran through Fred’s body. The carelessness of the gesture arrested him fully, but he was helpless to the fondness with which it was delivered. George pulled away just enough to murmur against his lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re somebody </span>
  <em>
    <span>now,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Freddie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fred felt uninvited tears well up. A wave of weakness and frustration overtook him, and he surrendered to it. He fell forward, burying his face into his brother’s shoulder and choking on a sob. The sound was a punch in George’s gut and he found himself breathless for a moment. Then, he grew somber and accepting and wrapped his arms closely around his beloved twin. Fred wept, and his body shook with the force of it. George’s own eyes brimmed sympathetically and he pressed his cheek hard against his brother's head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George held him  for a long time, indifferent to the passage of time. He waited until the sound and the motions ebbed, softly kissing the side of his head. Whether it was doubt or confrontation which catalyzed the breakdown, he wasn’t sure. He only knew that he was grateful that his brother released it, turned out where it could no longer gnaw his insides.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Furthermore, there was no easy answer to any one of Fred’s questions. The reality of the situation was this; absolutely no one could offer them any guidance. As had been the case so very often in their lives; the only thing they could rely on was each other.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Prudence</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Fred and George Weasley found themselves standing in their childhood room, full trunks abandoned near the door. George’s hands were placed resolutely on his hips, and he was looking around the room as if displeased by something. Fred watched silently, considering his twin’s feelings. It was their first time home under new pretense, and neither had a clue how to act. He decided a joke might put his brother at ease.</p><p>“Sorry, mate,” Said Fred lightly, “It was all I could reserve at short notice.”</p><p>George grinned and turned to look at him.</p><p>“Two beds, Freddie, are you serious?” He volleyed back.</p><p>“I didn’t want reception to give us strange looks.”</p><p>George absolutely cracked. He eyed the other Weasley with such disbelief and mirth before walking up to him and lacing his arms around the small of his back.</p><p>“We’ve given Mum enough heart attacks already, eh?” He said in a surprisingly gentle tone. The line caught Fred off guard. It was an uncommonly honest joke. </p><p>“Right, Georgie,” he said, “Ten feet at all times.”</p><p>It was only a taunt, but the disappointment on George’s face was suddenly very obvious.</p><p>“Right,” he echoed. Fred Hesitated. “No, you’re right, Fred,” George repeated, “As long as we’re here, we shouldn’t take any chances.” Fred wasn’t sure how this made him feel. It was impossible to imagine how any one member of their family might react to walking in on something <em> private </em> between them. He didn’t want to think about it. He focused on the face his twin was making instead.</p><p>“Are you alright?” he asked. George took in a slow breath, eyes locked on the far window. His gaze flickered back to him.</p><p>“It’s <em> our </em>room, Fred,” he said quietly, “And I’ve missed sharing a bed more than I can tell you.”</p><p>Fred felt the sentiment in every part of his body. To prevent the feeling from overwhelming him, he turned around. He felt George’s eyes on him as he stood there, directionlessly. He impulsively walked over to his trunk and kicked it open, then began to unpack. George knew his brother had absolutely no interest in getting organized fresh off the Hogwarts Express, and he sat heavily on his own bed. He sighed as noiselessly as possible. He felt the urge to apologize, but he didn’t know for what. He wondered if they were always going to dance like this. He wondered what Fred had meant when he said, <span>“Do you want to just see where this goes?"</span></p><p>“Fred,” he said very softly, “I love you.”</p><p>The form of Fred’s back paused deliberately. Something in his tone had made all the air in the room stop moving. George felt something writhe deep in his stomach. He stood up as if this would dispel it, and approached his twin. He leaned and kissed the back of his head unassumingly. “You go ahead and finish that up, mate,” he said, “I’ll be downstairs making sure nobody else is getting too comfortable.” George rose without waiting to confirm that his brother had heard him. He felt colder with every step he took out of the room.</p><p>Fred, left behind with his trunk and his scattered thoughts put his face down against the open rim. It felt so much to him like he was at war with himself; caught up on every little thing and asking his brother to pay the difference. <em> How do you meet him in the middle? </em> Fred asked himself; but as always, no answers came.</p><p> </p><p>✦</p><p> </p><p>“Fred,” greeted Ron as George descended the stairs. He was sitting at the Burrow table and spreading jam on a piece of dark toast. Ginny was across from him, compiling a list of something-or-other that couldn’t be read at a distance.</p><p>“Ron,” greeted George, collecting himself into a presentably neutral state.</p><p>“Where’s the other one?” Ginny asked without looking up from her list.</p><p>“What are you writing, <em> Ginerva, </em>” George asked in return, completely ignoring her question. She didn’t respond and George traipsed up to her and put both hands squarely on the back of her chair. He leaned forward and scanned a collection of semi-familiar names. </p><p>“Those are Quidditch players,” he remarked. Ron rolled his eyes silently, knowing what Ginny would say next.</p><p>“Not just Quidditch players. The best players on the Holyhead Harpies to the worst,” she said, adding <em> Wilda Griffiths </em> to the list.</p><p>“She thinks we’re going to see the World Cup this year,” said Ron lazily, taking a bite of bread.</p><p>“I didn’t <em> make it up, </em> Ron. I overheard Percy talking to Mum,” Ginny declared, putting down her quill.</p><p>“You should write for the Prophet with sources like those,” continued Ron unfazed.</p><p>“Tell him to shut up, George,” Ginny appealed, causing Ron’s eyebrows to furrow in confusion for a moment. George squeezed his baby sister’s shoulder, and casually began his departure.</p><p>“Do it yourself, Ginny. Invaluable skill, that,” he said. Ron gave George the evil-eye all of the way out of the room. Fred entered at that moment, narrowly missing his brother. Ron shifted his attention to the newcomer and furrowed his eyebrows a second time.</p><p>“Fred?” He asked dubiously.</p><p>“I’m George, mate,” said Fred. “These fifteen years have meant nothing to you, have they?” </p><p>Ginny smiled, and returned to her list. Ron stuffed the remainder of his breakfast in his mouth and leaned back in his chair, dedicatedly ignoring both siblings. Fred eyed The Burrows back door and thought he might find George through it when a different door opened magically, and Molly Weasley appeared from beyond it. Seeing a basket full to toppling with brown eggs, Fred went quickly to help her instead. It all felt so normal. At the very least, the lively crowd under The Burrow’s roof was soothingly distracting.</p><p> </p><p>✦✧✦✧</p><p> </p><p>True to their word, they slept apart, often talking long into the night. The way Fred’s laugh became hoarse and breathless when he was giddy for lack of sleep made George’s stomach tie in knots. The way that George made a soft low hum to indicate he had heard his brother when he was dozing off made the distance between them feel criminal to Fred. However, if both Weasleys were honest with their feelings, an empty room represented a tremendously provocative possibility. Laying there, in the quiet dark privacy of their own home, it begged the question; what would it mean to them to be <em> completely </em> alone? And with only one year left at Hogwarts, how long until they would find out?</p><p>On the final day before their departure, the twins took some time to themselves. They were both craving a small measure of solitude, and took off in the morning when the air was just starting to warm up.</p><p>The fields beyond The Burrow were much as they remembered them; summer had made the meadow pale, and the air fragrant. They wandered until they felt confidently unnoticeable, and came to a stop where the grass grew tallest. Fred sat down quite heavily, and fell backwards, tucking his hands underneath his head. George smiled at him for a moment before sitting down next to him. Fred reached out aimlessly for his brother’s hand and George provided it. He rubbed over his twin’s fingers very gently, and George was momentarily enrapt by the feeling. He closed his eyes and listened to the musical call of a thrush somewhere on the horizon. He wanted to tell Fred he loved him. Something held him back. He turned his sibling’s hand over and lifted it to his lips, burying the words in his brother’s palm.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Emergence</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Fall arrived and swept the Weasleys away for their final year at Hogwarts. It was a much needed reprieve to have the familiar nooks and crannies of the castle back, but it was not the Panacea the boys were hoping for. The more familiar they became with their feelings, the more dearly they needed to hide them. Without precisely knowing why, the kiss stolen in a secret passageway, the embrace in an empty hallway, the gentle squeeze of a hand before parting for the night; each felt so much more vulnerable than it ever had before. All the same, they adored one another’s company, and fell easily into their school routine once more.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>When October came, a biting chill came with it. Each student wore their house colors proudly on warm woolen neckwear, hands covered with gloves and ears covered with muffs. Fred and George had a single egregiously long scarf wrapped around both of their necks, and they were pretending this was completely normal for the entertainment of their peers. They took this act all the way to Hogsmeade, sharing the mutual buzz with all the other seventh-years for the first trip of the term. They were most looking forward to making their regular visit to </span>
  <em>
    <span>Zonkos</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and were quite overdue for a supply run of some of their most classic gags as well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shop was busy as it always was, and smelled strongly like a mix of sulfur and licorice. Despite this being their last visit as students, they found it somewhat difficult to be excited. George was turning a sugar quill about in his hands, listening to the general hubbub and trying to parse why, when Fred spoke up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, it’s sort of a shame, really, he said, ducking out of their shared scarf at last, and approaching a display boasting a novel flavor of the familiar </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fizzing Whizbee</span>
  </em>
  <span> sweets. “All this time, and nothing’s new.” George gave a muted laugh. The charm on his scarf was beginning to wear off, and the end shrunk upwards like a recoiling snake. For the sake of the joke, Fred hadn’t brought his own, so George removed it and approached his twin, wrapping it around his neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not wrong,” he said, “but they’ve still got loads of things we can use for ingredients, and that’s where the </span>
  <em>
    <span>real</span>
  </em>
  <span> magic happens, right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment, Fred looked at George curiously. George smiled and raised his eyebrows expectantly, but Fred didn’t speak, he seemed to be considering something. George laughed a bit under his breath, and left him to it, turning to disappear into the crowd. Fred blinked and looked up after him, spotting just the back of his red hair as he slipped behind a throng of dark robes. Fred gently furrowed his eyebrows and smiled. With George safely out of view, he let the fondness he was feeling show on his face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>✦✧✦✧</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was night again, and it was so alike all those which had come before it. Hushed, dim, familiar. It had been seven years. Seven years of quiet nights, where neither one of the Weasley twins could sleep. Seven years of emotions tempered by distance and refined by pressures outside of their influence. A night came when </span>
  <em>
    <span>true </span>
  </em>
  <span>confrontation was, at last, inevitable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> They were each so certain that the other was awake, listening for a stir in the darkness, but neither moved. George was looking back on some night (he couldn’t remember when,) in which he had heard his name from across the room in </span>
  <em>
    <span>barely</span>
  </em>
  <span> a whisper, and had stood to meet it. The floor of the bedroom had been so cold he had been tempted to run. He could remember the sense of </span>
  <em>
    <span>relief</span>
  </em>
  <span> so clearly when his brother had said "</span>
  <em>
    <span>sleep here tonight, Georgie.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Somebody turned in their bed and sighed. It wasn’t Fred. George furrowed his eyebrows softly. He thought about how warm his brother must be after so long under the covers. He thought about the way his shoulders dipped up when he kissed his cheek too close to the ear. He thought about his eyes, his freckles, his </span>
  <em>
    <span>smile</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and - </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George was disrupted by the sudden sting of tears. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reached upwards and rubbed them away resentfully. Crying? Why was he crying? He turned his head noiselessly and looked in Fred’s direction. He waited without gratification to hear his own name break the silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Get up, say goodnight, and I love you,</span>
  </em>
  <span> a voice urged George quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Right now?</span>
  </em>
  <span> He argued back, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I can’t do that.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Of course you can. You’ve done it before. Tonight’s not any different.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>George grimaced and shut his eyes tightly, because tonight </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> different, and he didn't quite know how. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His thoughts returned to Fred. To the way he avoided eye contact when he was uncomfortable. The way he fell totally silent. The way he was quick to cry. His heart thumped painfully. Tears again. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What’s wrong with me?</span>
  </em>
  <span> He thought bitterly, almost saying the words out loud.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You’ll feel better if you just tell him. Just once, before bed,</span>
  </em>
  <span> came the voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>I can’t.</em>
  </b>
  
</p><p>
  <span>George’s chest trembled with the effort it took to make no noise as fresh hot tears spilled down his cheeks. His frustration with himself grew.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why can’t you?</span>
  </em>
  <span> The voice insisted distantly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George’s stomach convulsed as the answer became so alarmingly, </span>
  <em>
    <span>painfully </span>
  </em>
  <span>obvious.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m in love with him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>George stopped breathing.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He’ll hear it in my voice. He’ll know. I’m in love with him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>George felt suddenly like his bed was an ocean, and he was drowning in it. He wept, shoulders heaving, and failed to restrain the sound that came with it. A hushed lamenting choke broke aloud against the darkness, and George’s gut rolled for a second time. He couldn’t be heard. He couldn’t explain this.  He tossed his blankets aside and his bare feet hit the unbearably cold stone floor. This time, he did run. Not bothering to dress, George fled the dormitory.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t wait to see if he had been heard. He didn’t pause to look over his shoulder. He left the Gryffindor common room with no goal, and no direction. He ignored the stairs which had shifted in the night and stayed there on the seventh floor, taking the twisting corridors wherever they might deposit him. His exposed feet grew numb from the cold, and his cheeks frigid where the air dried his tears. He entered a long, black hallway which was just distant and private enough to compel him to pause.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What am I doing?</span>
  </em>
  <span> He asked himself. He began to pace.</span>
  <em>
    <span> How can I talk to him? </span>
  </em>
  <span>He turned on his heel. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What would I even say?</span>
  </em>
  <span> He stopped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George’s features pulled into a quizzical stare. The stone wall near the mouth of the hallway had manifested a door, where before there had been none. There </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> been none, hadn’t there? It was dark, and George was frantic, wasn’t it possible he had just missed it the first time? Yet, it was there and it called to him. The handle gleamed unnaturally silver in the gloom, and George grasped it and pulled it open. It somehow felt as if the answers to his questions were on the other side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door opened to a wide room with a high ceiling, totally empty save for a grand mirror standing resolutely at the very end. Columns of moonlight pierced the hall from windows placed quite impossibly in rows on either wall. George looked once behind himself, confirming the contradiction in geometry, (knowing very well that he was in the heart of the castle,) and entered nevertheless. The door shut with a slow soft creak behind him, and he blinked the bitterness from his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stepped forward very lightly, until the inscription above the mirror became obvious. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>George blinked in surprise. He knew what this was, at least, he knew its function. Something he had heard many stories of in his younger days at the castle, something he had hoped Fred and him might find during one of their many adventures. When they, who knew more of the castles secrets than any student of their year or otherwise, did not find it; he believed that it was nothing more than a fanciful story. Nonetheless, here it was. The Mirror of Erised. His heart pounding heavily, he wondered if the power of the mirror was real as well. He approached it, watching his figure come into view. He stood, breath hung with anticipation, but the image did not shift. He saw only himself. Did this mirror not show you your heart’s greatest desire? He took a few steps forward, and his brow folded in concern. His reflection did not mimic him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hesitated and his eyes flickered up to his own face. He saw red hair, freckles, brown eyes, a face crinkling with mischief and love. His heart fluttered. It was Fred. He knew beyond any doubt that he was looking at the face of his own brother. He grew closer and lifted his hands up to the cool glass surface, and felt incredibly young and inexcusably weak. Time stopped, and the only thing which existed was himself and this mirror.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” he said faintly, “Freddie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The young man in the mirror mouthed his name back, and George could swear that he could hear it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you,” whispered George, just to hear it once out loud. The expression of his mirror image melted with affection and acceptance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think I’ll ever love anyone else,” George continued. “It’s always been you.” The image of Fred drew closer, as if it wanted to hear more. “I love how foolhardy you are, I love how loudly you laugh. I love how stubborn you get when you’re scared, I love easily you get overwhelmed. I always want to be with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George leaned until his forehead was just touching the silver of the mirror, and it was soothingly cool against his hot face. He closed his eyes and released it for a final time, praying that catharsis would come with it.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I love you,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I...” Came the voice, thick with uncertainty behind him. George wheeled around to see his brother, </span>
  <em>
    <span>his genuine</span>
  </em>
  <span> brother, standing in the hall behind him. He was crested perfectly by the moonlight, the door still hanging open. He looked somehow so small against the high frame of the room. It was evident by the expression which he wore that he had heard everything. He opened his mouth to speak.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I love you too, Georgie.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>There it was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George’s blood ran cold, and then hot immediately after.  He </span>
  <em>
    <span>heard</span>
  </em>
  <span> it. He heard the telling tremble, the surrendering helplessness of those words. He heard the very truth that he himself had been protecting for so long</span>
  <em>
    <span>. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He felt a weakness in his knees and a jubilation that made him want to jump at the same time. Fred took a few shaky steps forward and said it again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>love </span>
  </em>
  <span>you George,</span>
  <em>
    <span>”</span>
  </em>
  <span> he said, his voice warm and vulnerable. “I’ve always loved you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George abandoned the mirror and flew to his brother. They collided with a force that was almost too much for either to stay standing on jellied limbs. They loosened the embrace only enough to kiss, and it was achingly reverent. George felt every little movement of his brother’s body as if they were the only things which existed on the planet earth, and Fred felt as if George were the force which turned it. They then fell completely into one another, leaning heavily, crying without tears. It became a laugh almost immediately, light-hearted and unburdened. The sound was interrupted by a kiss. In Fred’s mind, the path forward became obvious. If they could have </span>
  <em>
    <span>this,</span>
  </em>
  <span> they could have anything. It seemed all so clear, and the past so petty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want to run anymore, George,” said Fred hoarsely. “No matter what we do, or what paths we take, I’m always going to be in love with you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Although it was no longer a revelation, the purity of the statement hit George like a Bludger, and he put his face entirely on his twin’s shoulder and gave a subdued, trembling chuckle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re always going to be in love with each other,” he contributed, almost too lightly for Fred to hear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think we’ve ridden this broomstick as far as it needs to take us, George.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George looked up, not gathering his meaning. He saw that Fred’s expression had grown confident, </span>
  <em>
    <span>daring </span>
  </em>
  <span>even, and his stomach wriggled with butterflies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, mate?” he encouraged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s get </span>
  <em>
    <span>out</span>
  </em>
  <span> of here, Georgie. Let’s give them a final show and let’s just </span>
  <em>
    <span>go.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just </span>
  <em>
    <span>go?"</span>
  </em>
  <span> George repeated, his voice turning giddy and incredulous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes!” Fred exclaimed, taking George’s face with both hands and kissing him on the forehead, on the nose, and finally on the mouth. His excitement was becoming palpable. “Let’s go and start something of our own! Our </span>
  <em>
    <span>own</span>
  </em>
  <span> shop, our </span>
  <em>
    <span>own</span>
  </em>
  <span> jokes, George. Breathe some life into the entire wizarding world!” A tickle of delight ran about George’s body and he stood up, taking his twin with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good Godric, Freddie you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>right.</span>
  </em>
  <span> We’ve got so much we could do,” he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And it would be </span>
  <em>
    <span>ours,</span>
  </em>
  <span> George. No hiding. No pretending,” Fred returned, none of the passion ebbing from his voice. George wondered weakly where his brother had been hiding this. He felt a pang of sorrow for all the times they had brushed one another without connecting, for all the times they had failed to find the right words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s…” George began with some difficulty. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted, Fred. How do we make it happen?” Again, and more fervently than ever before, Fred kissed him. George’s eyelashes quivered shut, and he forgot what he had even asked. Fred parted from him unhurriedly, the edges of their lips trailing together. Fred exhaled softly and George felt it against his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mate,” he hummed, “Do you want to just see where this goes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A laugh erupted out of George. The challenges didn’t matter. The galleons didn’t matter. Even if they were ruined, they would be ruined together. Fred’s smile was so sincere that George felt his heart could break. He learned forward and caressed his cheek, kissing the very edge of his hairline.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I love you,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> he murmured, allowing every drop of feeling to enter his voice unfettered. Fred made a sound in return that was in between a whisper and a whimper. He attempted to return the words, but the emotion made him stammer. He broke into a weak laugh instead and George smiled against his twin’s forehead. “I love you, Fred,” he echoed, and his brother laughed harder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George looked deliberately over his shoulder at their profile in the mirror. Just as Fred managed to return the words at last, George realized that they were reflected perfectly, exactly as they were.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Independence</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was morning. Summer air and buttery light entered the room through an open window, just barely kissing the edge of a quilted bedspread. Fred and George Weasley lay beneath it, enfolded warmly against one another. One of the brothers opened his eyes just barely, but his vision was taken up by his twin’s red hair framed fiercely golden against the sun. He closed them again. The other shifted closer and made a deeply contented sound. Nothing was calling them to rise from this place, not yet. It was their bed, in their house, on their own chosen path.</p><p>Fred and George had purchased a rather decrepit emporium on the corner of Number 93, Diagon Alley. The building smelled richly of dust, soot, and possibility. They owed a very dear friend of theirs a good amount of Galleons, but it seemed quite likely to all parties involved that the investment would be returned with interest. Above the shopfront, which at present lay empty and waiting for renovation, was the modest flat which the boys now lived in. It had been neglected and unfurnished when they arrived, but it instantly felt like home.</p><p>That first evening, they spread out their robes on the unswept floor and laid upon them; planning and laughing and eating Chocolate Cauldrons until they were giddy on the Firewhiskey encased within. They’d opened every window they’d found to let in the night air, warmer here than in the highlands like they were used to. Despite the late hour, the street was still alive with chatter and activity and the sound filled up their apartment like good company. </p><p>It took only one day of inviolable privacy for the boys to test the final boundary between them. Each had felt that hidden temptation, each had experienced the weak knees and the trembling belly that came with it - it was only a question of seeing where it led. There was no confrontation, or conversation, it happened impulsively that very night.</p><p>Fred made a joke that was just a bit too much at his brother’s expense, and in another moment they were rollicking about unrestrained on the hardwood. George tried to make a retort but he was silenced with a messy kiss. It made him dizzier than the liquor had. They landed in a heap of jumbled limbs, and without remembering moving it there, George found his hand buried deep between his brother’s legs. Fred gave a sound unlike any he had made before, and it brought an astounding heat to the surface of George’s skin. He sunk his face into his brother’s collar and the increasingly coarse sound of his breath pulled at his insides. He moved to undo his twin’s belt a bit roughly, and he found his brother’s hands there helping him, clumsy with desperation. He touched his brother at last, both of them shaking and breathless and wanting and suddenly that final uncrossable border was totally nonexistent. </p><p>Come morning, there was no shame and there was no secrecy. They joked openly about the affair, made their feelings and their desires known through the easy safety of casual banter. They each knew that the other wanted to take it further. They each knew that they had time to approach it.</p><p>Yes, they had <em> time </em> at last. Time to learn about themselves and one another, time to answer challenging questions, time to mourn the difficulties they had faced to arrive here. Time also to craft a heavily biased story in their own favor when their mother heard that they had deserted hogwarts in a parade of fireworks before the term was up. She had scheduled a visit to come and scrutinize their decisions and their living conditions and they were actually looking <em> forward </em> to it. It was this morning, after enough nights spent peacefully and without consequence together that George had stopped counting them, in which she was arriving.</p><p>Fred opened his eyes again. George had shifted, and he lay facing the ceiling with his lips parted ever so slightly. Fred watched the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, grinning from under half-lidded eyes. When he could not help reaching out and touching the edge of his jawline, George stirred. His eyelashes lifted lazily, and he looked over at his twin. He gave a warm smile.</p><p>“Hello, Freddie,” he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep. Fred returned the grin, and didn’t retract his hand.</p><p>“‘Ey, Georgie,” he said.</p><p>“What’s that, mate?” asked George, settling back and shutting his eyes again.</p><p>“I think I might fancy you,” said Fred lightly. </p><p>“That’s mental, mate, I’m your brother,” George mumbled back. Fred felt a peal of laughter bubbling up, and made no effort to keep the levity out of his voice. </p><p>“<em> C’mere, </em> you,” he said, clambering over top of his brother and kissing him on the forehead. George chortled and put his hands against Fred’s shoulders in mock-protest, but his lips traveled down to his cheek, then to his jaw and finally his neck, and George <em> melted </em>. Fred continued to kiss deeper still as George reached upwards and wrapped his arms tightly around him. Fred’s hands searched under the quilt for bare skin, which he found at once under his twin’s nightshirt. He pushed upwards just to hear the sound his brother would make, and was just shifting his other hand into the warm space beneath George’s upper thigh when -</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>   - Knock knock knock knock knock.</em>
</p><p> </p><p><em> “ </em>Frederick Gideon Weasley! George, I know you’re in there too!” Their mother’s voice was unmistakable. They both paused and tried very hard not to laugh.</p><p>“Boy, her voice carries doesn’t it?” Fred remarked, collapsing facedown over his brother’s shoulder.</p><p>“Well you heard her, mate,” George returned, “She’s called you - get up already.”</p><p>“Called you too.”</p><p>“Not my <em> full </em> name, which means-”</p><p><em> “George Fabian Weasley </em>! I’m opening the door if you don’t do it for me!”</p><p>This time, they couldn’t help laughing and they tossed the quilt to the floor, jumping rambunctiously out of bed.</p><p>“Hold on, Mum!” Fred called out close to an open window. They each pulled on a jumper over their sleepwear, but did not bother to dress otherwise. They appeared at the front entrance barefoot, disheveled and beaming, each fighting to take up space in the doorframe.</p><p>“Boys!” Mrs. Weasley said incredulously.</p><p>“Mum!” The boys returned in unison. She made the face she always did just before reprimanding them, (A deep breath accompanied with a subtle turn of the chin,) but then just sighed and pulled them both into a firm hug.</p><p>“You had me <em> worried. </em> And have you any idea how off his head your father’s been?” She lamented, parting just enough that she could switch eye contact from one to the other. “Come on now, let me in, let’s see the place.” </p><p>Promptly and without permission, she squeezed between them and into the empty parlor. Fred wore a benign grin, and George shut the door carefully. Molly stood with her arms akimbo, looking about herself as if studying a difficult puzzle.</p><p>“Well!” She exclaimed aloud. “This really is something, isn’t it? Fred dear, take my coat, won’t you?” She gestured correctly to Fred who glanced first at his twin and then at his mother.</p><p>“We don’t exactly have tea to offer you, Mum,” he said.</p><p>“Or biscuits,” George added.</p><p>“Nonsense, boys, nonsense,” Molly insisted, handing Fred her coat without waiting for him to accept it. “We’re going to have a proper chat whether or not there’s a sofa to have it on.” Fred relented, still smiling. He linked elbows with his brother, and led Molly Weasley up the stairs.</p><p> </p><p>✦✧✦✧</p><p> </p><p>Piece by piece, everything came together. a patchwork settee to put in front of the fire, A set of mahogany display tables on which to feature their newest goods, a four poster bed with a warm patchwork quilt, a beautiful sign with a shining brass inlay that read <em> Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes. </em> It was the start of their career, and the start of their lives together as well. In that first summer they received visits from both parents, (with even Percy coming by on ministry business to ensure the building was up to regulation standard,) which were amicable and reassuring. When they suggested that they host a Weasley Reunion right there at the shop, Molly had suggested that they furnish the place or she wouldn’t even tell their siblings where they had set up. It was all the better for them, though, as they wanted to give the most striking first impression they could.</p><p>It was August, and they were both hoping that the annual school supply run to Diagon Alley would bring their family to their doorstep. They sat upstairs in front of their fireplace, sharing the pumpkin juice and pie that George had brought home from the Hopping Pot. It was nearing the date for their Grand Opening, and they’d been incredibly busy preparing inventory for sale. Twice already they had failed to correctly apply a duplicating charm, and had to do away with heaps of inert product. They had also suffered a magical explosion when brewing an experimental <em> Perfuming Potion </em> which made the wearer smell like their own Grandmother for a week, and the flat still reeked of lavender. They were both exhausted and incredibly fulfilled.</p><p>Without speaking, Fred reached across to George and took his hand by the fingertips. George turned his hand in kind and squeezed his brother’s palm snugly.</p><p>“I love you, George,” Fred said in a hushed tone. George blinked once. After all this time, it still made his heart jump to hear it. He pulled his brother’s hand upwards and kissed it.
.</p><p>“I love you too, Freddie. Always will,” he answered. Fred hummed a gratified sigh, looking into the fire. After a moment’s silence, he asked,</p><p>“Are we putting anything on when Mum and all show up?” George laughed in anticipation of his own joke.</p><p>“Well Fred, I bloody well hope we’re decent enough to put on clothes when we’ve guests over.”</p><p>“You git,” Fred said at once, smiling.</p><p>“Do you actually want a thoughtful answer to that?” George continued, leaning over until their shoulders touched.</p><p>“If you can manage that,” Fred replied, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. George sighed and went quiet to think.</p><p>“No,” he said, rubbing a thumb over his brother’s knuckles and furrowing his brow subtly, “I don’t think we ought to, Fred.” He leaned until his cheek nestled against his brother’s shoulder. “This isn’t … going anywhere, afterall.”</p><p>“No,” Fred said with a gentle chuckle. “It’s really not.” George felt his emotions creeping up on him. He felt grateful that he was here, with his best friend and partner, free from obligation and skepticism. He felt <em> overwhelmed </em> with love, for Fred, for their family, and for life. He felt tickled by the swelling sense of adventure that arose when he considered what their future might hold. He smiled to himself, because he knew what would put his brother at ease.</p><p>“Don’t worry, love,” he said, “We’ll just be ourselves.”</p><p>“And after that?” Fred asked. George met his brother’s eye, and hid none of the fondness that he felt.</p><p>“Do you want to just see where this goes?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><div class="children module" id="children">
  <b class="heading">Works inspired by this one:</b>
  <ul>
    <li>
        <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24868456">[Podfic] The Extravagant Dance of Fred and George</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkanddeadlydesires/pseuds/darkanddeadlydesires">darkanddeadlydesires</a>
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